Rhode Island Fletcher and the Pizzazium Skull
by karly05
Summary: Famed explorer Rhode Island Fletcher is summoned to Paris by the mysterious Agent V.  What adventure awaits him?  Inspired by the "Temple of Juatchadoon" episode.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – I hope everyone has seen the episode, "Phineas and Ferb and the Temple of Juatchadoon." It was great fun, and – as it turns out – quite inspiring. Think of this as a "spin-off" of "Juatchadoon" and envision the characters as we would see them in the series. Povenmire & Marsh own everything related to Phineas & Ferb, including their alter-egos.**

Rhode Island Fletcher and the Pizzazium Skull – Chapter One

The dashing, green-haired chap in the leather jacket and well-worn fedora roamed the boulevards of Paris. The famed adventurer Rhode Island Fletcher had come halfway around the world in response to the mysterious letter now carefully preserved in his pocket.

_Mr. Fletcher – Your immediate presence is required in Paris. The fate of a nation hangs in the balance. Meet me at the Café Ferbouche. Come alone._

_Agent V_

_DSP_

That was the extent of the message. He did not know who Agent V might be, or what the letters DSP represented, and 'come alone' was a demand he would usually decline, but something about the letter intrigued him. Perhaps it was the delicate handwriting, or the faint perfume of roses that scented the paper. Call it a weakness, but Rhode Island Fletcher never could refuse a lady in need of his help.

At the foot of the letter, he had detected a postscript in invisible ink. Decoding the hidden message, he presumed that this was the password that would identify his quarry. Now, as he entered the café, he looked around at the patrons. They were an odd and unsavory assortment, as he would have expected in such a shady establishment. The red-haired woman behind the counter looked familiar to him. Upon reflection, he thought he recognized her as some faded, long-forgotten cabaret singer – Lindette, or something? She beckoned to him, and offered, as he drew near, "Cocoa, _cherie_?"

"I'd prefer a spot of tea," he replied.

"_Non, non_," she wagged a finger at him, "I believe you want zee cocoa." She drew a frothing cup for him and sprinkled it liberally with marshmallows. "It is – 'ow you say – on zee house."

"_Merci, madame,_" he accepted the cup. The woman seemed to know why he was there, and he ventured, "The platypus is the only mammal to lay eggs."

"You English are so amusing," she shook her head with an indulgent smile as she turned away from him.

_Well, she's not the one,_ he mused, carrying his cocoa to an empty table. He skimmed off the mound of excess marshmallows and drew from his jacket an object that resembled a small thermometer. Dipping it into his cup, he gave it a swirl, and waited a few seconds for the readings to appear. Nothing unexpected in his drink; that was a good sign. Thus reassured, Rhode Island Fletcher sipped at the warm beverage. No one else in the café approached him, or regarded him with anything other than casual interest. Perhaps he had the wrong place. Or perhaps he had been drawn into some elaborate ruse. Stirring his cocoa with an ordinary spoon this time, he was considering his options, when his attention was drawn by the sound of the café door opening.

At that moment, a freak cyclone swept directly toward him. It cast a pink tint upon the atmosphere in the room, and brought with it every flower petal in the city. Carried in on the balmy wind was a young woman of stunning beauty. Rhode Island Fletcher could not avert his gaze from her. Her indigo eyes, her coffee-colored hair, her creamy skin and rosebud lips were all like nothing he had ever seen before. Her black clothing appeared to be some variant on a military uniform, and was tailored to her hourglass figure. She walked to the counter and accepted a mug of cocoa from the red-headed woman and, to his surprise, carried it directly to his table. Sitting down in the chair opposite him, she looked him over with an appreciative smile, then reached out with her spoon to scoop up the discarded marshmallows from his saucer and add them to her own cup.

Rhode Island Fletcher found himself more speechless than usual. Fortunately, she was willing to start the conversation.

"The platypus is the only mammal that lays eggs." Her sultry voice was tinged with the trace of some Germanic accent.

He replied in a tone more husky than usual. "And it is one of only five extant species of monotreme."

Releasing a sigh, she said, "I am Agent V, of the Drusselsteinian Secret Police. My country is in need of your assistance, Mr. Fletcher."

He nodded in acknowledgement of this and said, "What is it you want? Aside from my marshmallows." With a slyly raised eyebrow, he regarded the sweets piled into her cocoa.

"The famed Pizzazium Skull of Drusselstein has been on loan to the Museum of Mystical Antiquities, here in Paris. Four days ago, it was stolen. Word of its disappearance has been kept quiet so far, but if the news reaches my country, it could lead to war."

"Fair enough. But, why bring me here? And why alone? You must be aware that I usually work with my partner."

Agent V gave a soft snort as she said, "Ohio Flynn talks too much. I prefer the strong, silent type." The look she gave him sent a little jolt of electricity straight to his heart. "I summoned you here, Mr. Fletcher, because I believe I know where the skull is hidden, and retrieving it will be a two-person job. I require an accomplice." Her choice of word prompted a suspicious glint in his eye, but she blushed a bit as she said, "Have I misspoken? English is such a confusing language. I meant… an assistant."

Assistant, accomplice, or willing dupe, it was all one to him. Rhode Island Fletcher was hers to command. He downed the last of his cocoa before he gave her a slight nod. "Where do we start?"

_To Be Continued…_

**A/N – I came back and changed the spelling of Drusselstein to what we learned in "The Doonkelberry Imperative."**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N – Disclaimer: Everything I know about the Catacombs of Paris, I learned from Disney's version of "Hunchback of Notre Dame," so bear with me, and keep telling yourself, "It's just a cartoon…"**

Rhode Island Fletcher and the Pizzazium Skull – Chapter Two

The Catacombs of Paris. Agent V had shown him the map she possessed – less of a map than a cryptic bit of needlework sliced from some larger tapestry. It had been reworked with threads that blended into the design on the front, but on the reverse side formed a web of lines and knots. Rhode Island Fletcher studied it closely as Agent V explained her interpretation of the directions it provided. She had worked out the code quite cleverly, he thought. Beautiful _and_ intelligent – what were the odds?

Their point of entry to the underground tunnels was through an old and decaying burial ground. The crypt they sought was barred by an iron gate, but this was no serious obstacle. Rhode Island Fletcher never went anywhere without his pocket knife. That was still how he referred to it, but the thick, compact object concealed every sort of tool he could possibly need, and picking the rusty lock took mere seconds. Agent V slipped through the gate as soon as it was opened, and went straight to the back side of the burial vault, disappearing in the narrow space between it and the surrounding wall. Fletcher flicked on his electric torch, and followed. He found her crouched over a broken slab of stone, her fingers prying at the edge as she strained to move it.

"Allow me," he knelt beside her. He didn't need the torch to sense her glaring at him.

"I am not some helpless girl, Mr. Fletcher," she informed him crisply. "And I am not afraid to get my hands dirty."

With a calm look, he noted, "You did say this would be a two-person job." Edging around to the side of the slab opposite her, he pulled from inside his jacket a pair of short, metal chisels, slightly curved at one end, and handed her one. She understood his intent and, working together, they wedged the chisels under the stone and, between the two of them, pried it up. Beneath it was a steep shaft that descended into the dark earth.

Plucking her own flashlight from the small pack flung over her shoulder, Agent V slid into the hole without hesitation. Fletcher followed her, fully prepared to lend a hand, but she clearly didn't require one. She gracefully picked her way down like a cat, her boots finding purchase in the smallest bits of root and stone protruding from the walls. With a light leap, she landed on her feet in the tunnel below, and studied her tapestry in the beam of her torch.

"This way," she motioned, striding off through the now-level passage, as he hastened to catch up to her.

Rhode Island Fletcher cast his light around their surroundings, examining the dank walls and crumbling arches. His ears were finely tuned to the sounds of moisture dripping from the ceiling, Agent V's boots striking against the floor, the occasional crack of a settling stone – and something else, delicate and indistinct, echoing from some hidden chamber. He knew that sound; it was horrifying, but not unexpected. Fletcher patted his jacket with one hand. At least he was equipped.

Agent V stopped in front of a gap in the tunnel wall where the stones had crumbled away, forming an opening to the chamber beyond. Still armed with the chisel he had given her, she dug into the wall, working to expand the hole. Rhode Island Fletcher grasped the chisel he had kept and, without a word, went to work beside her. There was no conversation between them, only the clank of iron on stone, and their occasional grunts of exertion. At length, Agent V stepped back, first eyeing the opening in the wall, then Fletcher, then the wall again, before she said, "That should be enough for you." He shot her a look that clearly said, _You're not coming?_ She answered, with the trace of an almost-apologetic smile, "I will be standing guard here."

He put away the chisel and asked, "What am I looking for?"

"You are looking for an object the size and shape of the head of a cat." She demonstrated with her hands. "It will be a light green in color, not unlike jade, but with a glowing aura. It should not be difficult to spot. Tread carefully," she warned.

Shining his torch through the opening, he understood her words. The floor of the next chamber was several feet lower than where he stood, and he would need to clamber down a steep slope of rubble to get there. Careful to show no chink in his customary calm, Rhode Island Fletcher squeezed backwards through the gap, hands and feet seeking out the most stable bits of stone in his path. Under that cool exterior, his heart was racing, because he had discovered the source of the horrible noise, and he knew for certain what was causing it. The blood-curdling cacophony of squeaking and skittering surrounded him as he descended; the torch hanging from his belt revealed glimpes of scampering movement below him. Just as he had feared: _Rats!_

Turning around and flattening his back against the precarious slope, his heels dug in still a foot above the floor, Rhode Island Fletcher reached into his jacket, pulling out the device that Ohio Flynn had dreamed up for him. It looked like two tin paddles, connected at the handle, with a small rubber ball suspended between them. Fletcher shook the device vigorously, then, with his thumb, flicked open the catch. The paddles separated, and he felt the handle quiver in his grasp. Unseen, unheard, a sonic wave radiated through the chamber and the vile rodents screeched in agony and scurried away in all directions. Rhode Island Fletcher breathed a deep sigh of relief. The Rat Excluder had worked perfectly.

As his boots reached the floor, he flashed his torch around the chamber. The walls were lined with bones, some intricately stacked, some that had fallen into disarray. At first glance, he had no luck in spotting the object he sought – then he had an idea. Switching off the light, he allowed his vision to adjust to the darkness. As he slowly turned to survey the chamber, a faint, green glow caught the corner of his eye. Zeroing in on the spot, he restored the light, blinked a couple of times in the sudden glare, and made his way toward the wall. There it was: The Pizzazium Skull of Drusselstein.

As Rhode Island Fletcher cautiously extended a hand toward the artifact, he heard a rippling chorus of soft hisses. Into the circle of light cast by his torch, he saw one, then four, then a dozen or so small, black snakes, slowly weaving through the maze of rock and bone surrounding the Pizzazium Skull. Snakes, unlike rats, did not terrify him; he found them rather fascinating, with their quiet, graceful ways, and he knew at a glance that these were harmless. They were rather in the way, however, and he reached again into his jacket and drew out a small, prettily carved reed flute. Rhode Island Fletcher put the flute to his lips and piped a soft, soothing melody. The snakes, one by one, raised their heads to observe him, and began to sway their necks to the music. Taking advantage of the distraction, he was able to reach out with one hand and retrieve the glowing Skull.

He nearly dropped it as he removed it from the wall, and the reed flute clattered to the floor as he scrambled to get another hand under the mystical object. The thing was deceptively heavy for its size, Fletcher noticed, as he hefted it in his hands. It was exactly as Agent V had described it, strange and mesmerizing. Pushing back his jacket, Rhode Island Fletcher carefully slipped the Pizzazium Skull into the leather satchel slung across his body. He could feel the added weight as he collected his flute and headed back toward the gap in the wall. The scampering of tiny feet had begun to sound in the chamber again, and he knew the effects of the Rat Excluder had worn off. Time to get out of there.

Agent V was waiting for him when he emerged into the passage above, and she took hold of his arm to help him out. Fletcher found himself panting a bit from the climb and paused for a moment, hands on his knees, to catch his breath.

"You have it?" she asked, and he patted the side of his jacket that concealed the satchel. "I was beginning to wonder what was taking so long," Agent V remarked, then added, "I heard music."

"A little snake-charming trick I learned in India," he explained, straightening himself.

The indigo eyes went wide at this, and her voice quavered slightly as she said, "Ah, so it is true. There were snakes."

"Snakes and rats," he informed her, allowing a glimmer of annoyance to creep into his glance.

"Only the snakes distress me," she confessed, softening him up with a small, blushing smile. "The rats I find quite sweet."

_I'm glad one of us does_, thought Rhode Island Fletcher. Side by side, they began to hike back in the direction from which they had come. Just as Rhode Island Fletcher was beginning to think that this whole adventure, rats and all, had been a bit too easy, there was a sudden _boom_, and the passage ahead of them began to fill with red smoke. A plummy, tenor laugh, trying a bit too hard to sound evil, echoed around them, and Agent V stopped in her tracks. Fletcher caught her startled look, which was swiftly transformed into a frown, as she planted her feet and crossed her arms in front of her. From the smoke emerged a puny figure with a bulbous head. He approached with mincing steps, and Rhode Island Fletcher made out his pinched features, tuft of sandy hair, and round, horn-rimmed glasses. His neat, white coat made him look like a cross between a military dictator and an evil scientist. Fletcher was certain he had never seen this strange little fellow in his life.

Agent V glowered at the interloper. "Orville Von Roddenstein!" Her lips curled into a sneer as she said, "How surprising! And by surprising, I mean – _completely unsurprising!_"

Rhode Island Fletcher flinched at her words – where had he heard that odd turn of phrase before?

"Well, well," Orville Von Roddenstein taunted her in his snivelling voice. "If it isn't Miss Vanessa Doofenshmirtz."

_Doofenshmirtz?_ The name knocked Fletcher back on his heels. _No… it couldn't be…_

_To be continued..._

**A/N – OK, in the episode, "A Real Boy," Doof's rival Rodney taunts him for having just a useless daughter, while Rodney has his Evil Genius Son Orville to help with his schemes. Ever since, I've wanted to do a Vanessa vs. Orville story of some sort, and the "Juatchadoon" episode finally showed me how to do it!**


	3. Chapter 3

Rhode Island Fletcher and the Pizzazium Skull – Chapter Three

Rhode Island Fletcher did not even try to conceal his look of shock and dismay as he gaped at the beautiful girl beside him. How could he have been so blind? _Well, easily,_ he forgave himself. There was no resemblance between Agent V and the seedy, disreputable treasure hunter with whom he and Ohio Flynn had crossed paths more than once. His worst fears were realized, however, as Orville Von Roddenstein spoke.

"Running errands for Daddy, are we? Shouldn't you be out… oh, I don't know… _shopping_?"

Agent V – Vanessa, Fletcher corrected himself – _Vanessa… what a lovely name, it suits her… Snap out of it, Fletcher! This is no time for weakness!_ – Miss Doofenshmirtz, he forced himself to think of her by the despicable name, replied to the puny chap. "My father has nothing to do with this."

"Please," Orville sniffed. "We both know that Heinz Doofenshmirtz would give his right arm for that lump of Pizzazium. If only to embarrass his brother, the goody two-shoes Chancellor of Drusselstein."

Hands on hips, Vanessa glared at him. "I happen to work for my uncle, the Chancellor."

"Oh, I'll bet Daddy Doofy is just tickled pink with that!" Orville spewed out that evil laugh again. It was more like an evil giggle.

As his eyes squeezed shut with the force of his own mirth, Vanessa seized the momentary distraction. In a flash, she lunged at Orville, knocking him to the ground. On his belt were several devices that looked like small grenades in various colors. She snatched a yellow one and, scrambling to her feet, threw it at him as she backed away. It exploded, enveloping Orville in a cloud of yellow smoke. His Evil Giggle intensified, echoing off the ceiling, as he shrieked hysterically, "NO! Not – th-the – Laughing Gasssseee-hee-_hee_-_HEEEEE!_"

With a horrified look, Agent V seized Rhode Island Fletcher by the arm and cried out one word: "RUN!" Dragging him along, she sprinted further into the caverns, away from their exit. As they ran into the darkness, Fletcher fumbled for his torch, and managed to cast some light on their situation. Ordinarily, he prided himself on his physical stamina, but now he found Agent V easily outpacing him and, before they had gone far, she let go of his sleeve and dashed off alone. She ran frantically, the beam of her flashlight bouncing off the walls as he fell farther and farther behind. Rhode Island Fletcher could make no sense of this; she wasn't trying to desert him, she kept calling back to him over her shoulder, "Hurry!" or "This way!" Of course, though, he reasoned, she wouldn't desert him. He still had the Pizzazium Skull.

From somewhere up ahead, he heard her give a short scream. Rhode Island Fletcher, panting with exertion, was running full tilt to catch up to her, and his torch illuminated the scene just a moment too late. All in one glance, he saw her staggering backwards, boots scrabbling for traction, as she barely stopped herself from skidding over the edge of a black pit where the tunnel floor had crumbled away. Fletcher's own forward momentum was too forceful to be halted in time and he went stumbling past her, straight toward the precipice, his torch flying from his grasp and clattering to the stones at her feet. He twisted himself toward her as he tumbled into the abyss, his gloved hands groping fruitlessly for the edge of the floor – then, out of nowhere, a thin cord looped over his arm and snared him. Instinctively, he clutched at it as he jerked to a stop, dangling a few feet below the passage above. Looking up, he could see Agent V grasping the other end of the lasso as she strove to raise him. Her face contorted in a grimace, she groaned out loud as she put all her strength into it, straining to lift him even a few inches. Rhode Island Fletcher's feet felt for some sort of purchase to propel himself back up, but there was nothing within reach. Panting, Vanessa gasped out in frustration, "You're heavier than you look, Mr. Fletcher!"

That was when he realized the problem and blurted out, "It's the Skull! It's weighing me down!"

"Toss it up here," she commanded.

_So, that was her game_, he thought. Looking up at her, he shook his head.

"I can't hold on to you! Please," she begged, "just throw me the Skull and I can pull you up."

"When were you going to tell me?" It wasn't the most opportune time for a conversation, but he wanted to know.

"Tell you _what_?"

"That you're the daughter of Heinz Doofenshmirtz."

"What does that have to do with— Aaaugh," she gave an anguished cry as her fingers slipped a bit. "Mr. Fletcher, please, get rid of it, I don't care how!" He could hear her almost sobbing as the rope slid a little further through her grip. "You must let me save you!"

Hesitantly, he reached for the satchel under his jacket – then he heard it. The sound of snickering echoing from the passage above, and the snivelling voice singing out, "Oh, Miss Doofenshmirtz… come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Rhode Island Fletcher looked up. He could see Vanessa's face turned in alarm toward the source of the sound. Quietly, he commanded her, "Toss me my torch."

"What?" she gaped at him, still struggling to keep her grip on the rope, but she managed to move one foot to flick his flashlight over the edge of the hole.

He caught the light in his hand and shone it downward. The drop was a long one, but there was one way to avoid it. If he could propel himself in the right direction, he could make it. He kicked his legs slightly, and swung at the end of the rope. Looking up at Agent V, he said, "Let go when I tell you to."

"Are you insane?" she gasped.

He could hear Orville getting closer. Time to take matters into his own hands. With a kick and a twist, Rhode Island Fletcher wrested the lasso from Vanessa's faltering grasp and hurled himself into the chamber below. He heard her scream, "_NO!"_ as he fell. He knew she had no way of seeing what he had seen – the half-decayed column, still roughly flat on top, not too far away and not too far below the hole he had fallen through. The wind was knocked out of him as he hit his target, fingers digging into stone as he nearly slid off, but he laid the torch on top of it and scrambled up. Perched atop the column, he assessed his new predicament.

"Agent V! Over here," he directed, as her face appeared in the hole above.

"Mr. Fletcher!" Her radiant expression of relief was enough to convince him that her motives toward him were, and always had been, pure. "We have to get you out of there. Throw me the rope."

"No time," he argued. "Get away, before Von Roddenstein finds you."

Too late. The dreaded voice gloated, "I spy… with my little eye… "

Vanessa got to her feet and stepped away from the hole. Rhode Island Fletcher could no longer see her, but he could hear every word.

"What do you want, _Orville_?"

"At the moment? Your unconditional surrender."

"Hah!" she barked out a humorless laugh. "You're more insane than I thought if you believe you'll get away with this."

"Getting a bit cranky, aren't we, my dear? I think you need a _NAP!_"

This remark was punctuated with a small explosion, and Rhode Island Fletcher saw the trailing ends of a pink gas cloud drift above the hole. He heard a small moan from Agent V, and the soft thump of her body collapsing to the floor. This was followed by the sound of her boots scraping against the stones as Orville Von Roddenstein grunted, "You really need to cut back on the bon-bons, darling."

Rhode Island Fletcher gnashed his teeth in fury as he felt about himself for a means of escape. Vanessa was helpless in the clutches of that maniacal little fiend, and who knew what unspeakable torments he had in mind for her. _You should have trusted her,_ Fletcher berated himself. _You should have tossed the Skull up to her the first time she asked._ Suddenly, he thought: tossing the Skull. Perhaps there was a way out of this, after all. If he had enough rope.

_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

Rhode Island Fletcher and the Pizzazium Skull – Chapter Four

Rhode Island Fletcher stripped off his jacket and removed from around his body the satchel that held the Pizzazium Skull. He felt his strength return almost immediately as he was freed from the strange weight of the artifact. Swiftly, he looped Agent V's lasso through the leather strap of the satchel and knotted it. Testing the buckles of the leather bag, he assured himself that the Skull was secure inside it and, as he donned his jacket again, he took a deep breath and focused his thoughts. The longer he delayed, the more peril Vanessa faced at the hands of Von Roddenstein, but Fletcher couldn't allow himself to be distracted by such worries. There was one way out of this, and he had to make it work.

He took up his torch just long enough to survey the opening above himself one more time before he fastened the light to his belt and gathered the rope in his hands. On the upper level, near the edge of the hole, on the side opposite where he had fallen in, was a narrow pillar. He had judged the distance and was confident that he had enough rope to reach it. Now, Rhode Island Fletcher hefted the satchel in one hand and gave it a tentative swing, then another, and another. Gaining momentum, he raised his arm and the satchel whooshed over his head and around again, once, twice, three times. With each loop, he played out a bit more of the rope and kept the Skull-laden satchel whirling as it gained velocity. At last, with a heavy grunt and a silent prayer, he let go and sent the satchel hurtling upward.

He heard more than saw it reach its target, as the rope hit the pillar and the speed and weight of the satchel pulled it around and around until it stopped with a heavy thud. With the trailing end of the rope in his other hand, Rhode Island Fletcher paused for the slightest of moments to let out a relieved breath before he tugged at the line to make certain it was secure. Twining the rope around his arms and legs, he stepped away from his precarious stone perch and began to climb. Anchored by the Pizzazium Skull, the rope held fast around the pillar as he ascended toward it, and in a matter of minutes he had emerged from the pit and was standing on the spot where he had last seen Agent V.

Coiling up the rope, Fletcher stuffed it into his satchel with the Skull, and slung the leather bag once more across his chest. He knew the general direction in which Von Roddenstein had taken Vanessa, but he had no idea of their destination. How could he pick up their trail? Gripping his torch, he swept the light across the floor, looking for any clue – and found something he hadn't expected. Agent V's map. The bit of tapestry was not carelessly tossed aside, but rolled up and tucked against the wall, as if she had left it for him as her last conscious action. Seizing it, he unrolled the fabric and studied the pattern of threads. There was a large, yellow knot marking a spot deeper into the catacombs, and the thread leading to it ran in the direction in which Orville had made his escape. Convinced he was on the right track, Rhode Island Fletcher set off as swiftly as he was able.

It seemed to take forever, but in fact it was not long before he became aware of a wash of light flickering in the tunnel ahead. As he moved toward it, Rhode Island Fletcher could hear the sound of muffled voices. The light grew stronger, and he found himself approaching a circular gallery of arches overlooking a large chamber, the floor of which was another level below him, and the domed ceiling of which reached high above. His back pressed against the stone wall, Rhode Island Fletcher crept through the shadows and peered down at the scene before him.

Luckily, Orville Von Roddenstein's back was toward him, and his presence was, so far, undetected. This was clearly the vile fellow's base of operations, judging by the ring of torches that lined the walls, as well as the scientific equipment and bits of furniture arranged about the space. There was no time, however, to evaluate Orville's skills of interior design, for Rhode Island Fletcher's attention was drawn at once to the wooden chair in the center of the room, and the lovely, black-clad girl who was bound to it. Fletcher gritted his teeth at the sight. Vanessa had regained consciousness, but her hands were tied behind her, and her ankles were lashed to an odd, wooden protrusion of the chair legs, in a manner that held her feet slightly above the floor, tilted at an angle that exposed the soles. Orville had removed her black boots, and her pale feet were bare. Disturbed by this turn of events, Rhode Island Fletcher looked around for a means of descent into the chamber that would not alert Orville to his approach. Halfway around the gallery from where he was hidden, there was a crude lift of sorts, which was obviously how the villain came and went. If he could reach the open shaft undetected, he could easily slide down the cable to the lower level. As Fletcher silently edged toward it, he could hear the conversation below.

"What have you done to Rhode Island Fletcher, you little wart?" demanded Vanessa, in a fearless tone that made him admire her all the more.

"I?" Orville feigned offense at this question. "Not a thing. He's probably still lying at the bottom of that pit you dropped him into. Nice way to rid yourself of a useless accomplice, Miss Doofenshmirtz; you get points for that."

Fletcher breathed a little easier at this. If Orville thought that Vanessa had disposed of him, that put the element of surprise on his side.

"Not as useless as you think," she retorted. "He has the Pizzazium Skull. Now you'll never get your hands on it."

"Silly girl," Orville sneered. "I'm not after your little 'priceless artifact.' Oh, don't look so surprised," he reacted to her expression. "I've been studying Pizzazium for years, trying to find a use for it. It's worthless! No one even knows what it does! Although," he smirked, "I'm certain your father could find some way to blow himself up with it." He giggled at this as he minced his way around her chair. Above them, Rhode Island Fletcher took advantage of this change in position to move closer to the lift, still keeping Orville's back in front of him. "Oh, no," the bespectacled cad was still gloating, "this was never about the Pizzazium. That was just the bait. This has always been about _you_."

Fletcher froze, his blood running cold at the words. _If you dare to lay a hand on her, Von Roddenstein…_ the thought seared his brain.

The same thought had obviously occurred to Vanessa, who now snarled, "If you dare to lay a hand on me, you slimy little…"

Orville snorted at this. "Don't flatter yourself, my dear."

Fletcher was relieved to know that Orville's intentions were not lascivious, but at the same time he felt his blood boiling at the fellow's insulting tone.

"I have a score to settle with your father," Von Roddenstein went on.

"Why does everyone keep bringing my father into this?" Vanessa fumed.

"Because, he's a despicable thief! _My_ father, Aloyse Everheart Elizabeth Otto Wolfgang Hypatia Gunther Galen Gary Cooper Von Roddenstein, conceived the greatest weapon known to man – the Somnambulinizer! It controls people in their sleep, forcing them to do whatever the master of the device commands. With the Somnambulinizer, he would have created a sleepwalking army of Evil with which to conquer the world!" Orville's eyes gleamed with the pride of a devoted son as he proclaimed this, then he scowled at his captive. "But before he could build his brilliant creation, _your _father stole his plans and cobbled together some cheap imitation! Of course, Doofenshmirtz called his version the Somnambul_inator_. And, of course, he installed a self-destruct button on the thing and blew himself up with it," Orville snorted. "But it was _my father's invention!_ And it would have worked, if only _your_ incompetent father hadn't _ruined everything!_" His voice had raised itself to a high-pitched wail as he recounted this indignity, and now he stomped his tiny feet on the floor in childish fury. "_That_ is why you are here, Miss Doofenshmirtz. When your doting Daddy learns that his precious Baby Girl is my prisoner, he will give me anything I want! And _my_ Daddy shall finally be avenged!"

When his voice had finished echoing through the domed ceiling, there was a moment of silence. Then Vanessa muttered, "You cannot be serious."

Orville's lengthy rant had given Rhode Island Fletcher the opportunity to make his way along the gallery, to a point much closer to the lift – but still not close enough. From here, he could see Vanessa's hands, and had spotted the subtle movement of her fingers, and the glint of something metal clutched between them. Of course, Agent V would not be waiting around for him to rescue her; she was far too resourceful for that, he noted respectfully. She had not yet managed to saw through the cords binding her, however, when Orville wheeled on her with a menacing sneer.

"You doubt my propensity for evil? I think it is time you were taught a lesson, my dear!"

Fletcher fell back into the shadows and held his breath as Von Roddenstein turned in his direction. The white-coated figure hunched over his laboratory table, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves and mixing some sinister concoction in a shallow metal pan as he leered at Vanessa and giggled. Fletcher saw the blade in her fingers moving more rapidly, and she wriggled her wrists in a valiant but unsuccessful effort to free herself as Orville approached her with the pan.

"Take a good sniff," he waved it under his captive's nose, which wrinkled in revulsion, "and see if you can tell me what this is."

"Ugh," Vanessa's lips curled. "It smells like… tuna. And milk."

"Precisely." Orville placed the pan under her bare feet so her heels were resting in the goop, then his gloved hands scooped up the mixture and poured and smeared it over her exposed skin.

Clearly baffled by his actions, Agent V had stopped even trying to cut through her bonds as she said, "What is this, some sort of evil spa treatment?"

"Oh, you'll see soon enough," he smirked, stripping off his gloves and tossing them back on the table as he walked to a heavy, wooden cabinet across the room. From it, he took a wicker hamper that rattled and mewled as he carried it toward her. From his vantage point above them, Rhode Island Fletcher watched this scene with a mix of dread and confusion, one hand venturing into his satchel for the coil of rope, readying himself to rappel down from the gallery at a moment's notice.

"Prepare yourself, Miss Doofenshmirtz," Orville Von Roddenstein declared, unlatching the hamper. He stood poised with one foot on the edge, ready to overturn it and unleash its bloodthirsty contents upon the helpless girl. "For you have given me no choice but to release_ the kittens!"_

_To be continued…_

**A/N – OK, faithful readers, two more chapters to go! Chapter 5 will probably be up Friday night, and Chapter 6 on Saturday.**


	5. Chapter 5

Rhode Island Fletcher and the Pizzazium Skull – Chapter Five

Rhode Island Fletcher's jaw dropped in shock. Had Von Roddenstein actually said _kittens_? Stunned, he watched as the wicker hamper tumbled over and fell open, and out spilled half a dozen of the most adorable little balls of puffy fur, frolicking playfully and mewing in their dear, tiny voices. Yes, Fletcher rubbed his head as if trying to wake himself from a dream, they actually were… kittens.

Below him, however, Vanessa cried out in horror. "Nooo!" She wrestled frantically against her bonds. "Orville, no, please…" she begged, struggling in desperation. "Don't do this!"

Agent V was afraid of _kittens?_

Drawn by the appetizing aroma of tuna and milk, the cute little fuzzballs scampered toward the pan under Vanessa's heels. They piled over and under and around her naked feet, licking with their tiny tongues, rubbing with their fluffy coats. "No!" Vanessa gasped in agony. "Please! Not – that!" Rhode Island Fletcher already had the rope wrapped around one column of the gallery and was slinging his leg over the railing. He no longer cared if Von Roddenstein saw him, he had to rescue Agent V from – the _kittens_? As he clutched the rope and looped it around his leg, Vanessa Doofenshmirtz, no longer in control of herself, burst out laughing.

"Baaa-haa-haa-haa-haaaa!" she crowed, as the relentless felines tickled her feet. "Ghee-hee-hee-hee-hee-Ghaa-ha-ha-ha-haaah!" The maniacal cackling of a deranged lunatic poured from her pretty lips and filled the chamber. "Ehhhh-heh-heh-heh-heh-EEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!"

And, just when Rhode Island Fletcher thought this couldn't get any stranger, Orville Von Roddenstein fell to his knees, clutching his head in both hands as he screamed out in torment. "Aaaaaaaaaaugh! Stop! Make it stop! That horrible screeching – ! Someone make it sto-o-op!"

Rhode Island Fletcher swiftly descended the wall and his boots hit the floor of the chamber. Far from posing a threat, Orville was now a snivelling, tortured mass writhing on the floor, still whimpering in pain as his fingers dug into his ears. With one dismissive glance at the pathetic chap, Fletcher rushed to Vanessa's aid. Plucking the small, silver blade from the floor where she had dropped it, he sliced through the cord that bound her wrists and her hands burst free.

"Mis – ter – _gheeheehee_ – Fletch – er!" she cried out, looking up at him with eyes filled with joy and relief. Still cackling hysterically, she doubled over, straining to reach the kittens. "Please – _ehhehhehheh_ – get – them – _offffahh-ha-ha-ha-haaaa_!"

Suddenly inspired, he stepped back from the chair and reached into his jacket. A good shot of the Rat Excluder should dispatch the furry fiends. Out came the tin-paddled device, and he gave it a vigorous shaking before unleashing its power. The handle quivered in his grip and the sonic wave radiated outward. As one, the little bundles of cuteness raised their heads and looked at him. Then, with a chorus of audible purrs, they abandoned the tuna and milk and Vanessa's feet and came scampering toward him, weaving around his ankles and rubbing affectionately against his boots. Hm, thought Rhode Island Fletcher, beaming down at the irresistably cuddly creatures. Apparently, Ohio Flynn's Rat Excluder also functioned as a Cat Includer. What were the odds?

Agent V was gasping and sobbing as she regained control of herself, and she reached to pull at the ropes that still restrained her ankles. Tossing aside the Cat Includer as a distracting plaything for the kittens, Rhode Island Fletcher hastened to kneel at her feet, and cut her free with his pocket knife.

"Mr. Fletcher," she struggled to regain her breath as he helped her to stand, and she leaned on his shoulder. "How were you able to keep your senses? How were you not driven mad by the sound?"

"Of what?" he chuckled. "Von Roddenstein's screaming? I've heard worse."

"No," she corrected him in surprise. "My laughter. My horrible, horrible laughter," Agent V blushed in shame.

Gazing up into her eyes, he smiled. "Frankly, I found it quite charming."

"Well, well," came Orville's taunting voice, still a bit shaky. Once Vanessa had stopped laughing, he had been able to collect himself, and now regarded the pair of them with narrowed eyes. "Rhode Island Fletcher. How opportune. And by opportune, I mean – _completely inopportune!_ Oh, wait…" he muttered, rethinking his words. "That can't be right…"

"You've lost, Von Roddenstein," Fletcher informed him calmly. "You don't have the Skull, you don't have Miss Doofenshmirtz," he stood protectively in front of her. "Time to admit defeat."

"Ah, but I still have _this!"_ He plucked a blue grenade from his belt and hurled it at Fletcher's feet. In a flash, Fletcher darted forward, catching the grenade on the toe of his boot and flicking it upward, bouncing it artfully off his thigh and into his hand without breaking the glass. There were benefits to being a football enthusiast.

"Let me guess," he held up the weapon for inspection. "Tear gas?" Feeling a light touch from Agent V on his back, he took the hint and casually edged away from her, turning the grenade over in his fingers as he circled Von Roddenstein. "I suppose the next question is, can you reach that gas mask," Fletcher indicated the device hanging over the lab table, "before I release this?"

The distraction worked, and Orville, following the lure, turned his back on Vanessa. Lunging like a tigress, she pounced on him from behind, wrapping one arm around his neck and using her free hand to detach his belt. Tearing it away, grenades and all, she sprinted for the chair that had recently held her and slung it against the tall cabinet nearby. Before Orville could stop her, she leapt onto the chair and tossed the belt on top of the cabinet, far out of his reach.

"No, no, no!" Orville made a run at her. Rhode Island Fletcher snagged him by the collar, Orville kicked Fletcher's feet out from under him, and the two of them rolled on the floor. Fletcher should have been able to pin the puny fellow easily, but Von Roddenstein fought with the desperation of a madman. It took all of Fletcher's strength to hold him down, and even this did not stop Orville from grasping at the satchel that still held the Pizzazium Skull. He tore it open and the artifact tumbled into his clutches. "Ha ha ha!" he burst out in a deranged giggle. "It's mine! Mine, mine, mine!"

"You said it was worthless," Fletcher reminded him.

"Not if I can use it to frame her for the theft," Orville insisted. "The name of Doofenshmirtz will be _mud_!"

"I think my father has already taken care of that," said Vanessa. With his full attention on Von Roddenstein, Rhode Island Fletcher had lost track of Agent V, but now he heard her voice behind him as she commanded, "Mr. Fletcher, let him go." She must have seen his hesitation, because now she said, "Trust me!"

Surrendering, he rolled off of his adversary – and in that moment, Vanessa flung the remaining contents of the pan of tuna and milk in Orville Von Roddenstein's face. Still sprawled on the floor, he sputtered in surprise. The effects of the Cat Includer had worn off by now, and the kittens eagerly swarmed him, licking his cheeks and kneading his bulbous head. "Get off me, you disgusting little pests!" he shrieked.

"Well done," Rhode Island Fletcher congratulated Agent V as she helped him to his feet. She was back in her boots, he noted, and had reclaimed her small pack, and he returned to her the miniature silver knife. With a sly smile, she tucked the weapon into its hiding place in the back of her belt.

Covered in kittens, Orville had lost his grip on the Pizzazium Skull, which was now coated in the slimy dregs of the tuna and milk. But, as Vanessa reached for it, the glow of the green artifact began to intensify. The trails of milk and flecks of tuna began to sizzle and soak into the Pizzazium as first one green ray shot forth from the Skull, then another. Swatting kittens, Orville frantically shoved the burning object off of his chest and it tumbled to the floor, where it began to vibrate. A shudder went through the stones around it and Orville scrambled away from the dreadful thing. As the three of them stared at the mystical Skull, it slowly began to rise in the air. It drew in the remaining tuna and milk like a magnet and the kittens, having abandoned Orville, pawed at it with curiosity.

Green light radiating from it in all directions, the Pizzazium Skull now hovered a foot above the floor. With a look of amazed realization, Vanessa murmured, "The size and shape of the head of a cat…" Gaining strength, the Skull throbbed with light and rose a few more inches as Orville crawled off to cower under his lab table. Looking up at the dome above them, Rhode Island Fletcher felt for the empty satchel still slung around his body, raising it to be sure the strap came up securely under his arm. Holding open the leather bag in both hands, he extended it over the Pizzazium Skull, which rose gently into its embrace, and proceeded to levitate higher, lifting the bag with it. He met Vanessa's eyes and saw that she understood his plan. But, before she could join him, he cast a sudden glance over his shoulder.

"Would you mind grabbing my Rat Excluder?" he asked, with an apologetic smile. "I'm a bit stuck here."

She nodded and dashed over to pick up the device from where he had tossed it earlier. When she rejoined him, she found him scooping up kittens and tucking them into his jacket.

"Thank you," he reclaimed the device from her and stuffed it in with the kittens, who batted at it. With a sigh and a smile and just the slightest roll of her eyes, Agent V picked up the last two remaining kittens and tucked them into her uniform. The Pizzazium Skull was emitting a quavering hum as it began to lift Rhode Island Fletcher off the floor. Reaching out for her, he said, "Hold on tight." His eyes were now level with hers as she laced her arms through the strap of the satchel and around his neck. Grasping the satchel above his head, he wrapped his free arm around Agent V's waist, and the Skull lifted them both with increasing velocity toward the top of the dome. Several sharp bolts of green light pierced the leather bag, but it held together. They clung to each other and tried to ignore the pricking of kitten claws tangled in their clothing as the beams shot skyward and carved an escape hole in the ceiling. Far below them, they heard Orville Von Roddenstein screeching, "Curse you, Vanessa Doofenshmirtz and Rhode Island Fletcher!" as the green light kept drilling upward through earth and pavement, until they emerged into the dusky shades of evening. The rays of light retreated, and two pairs of boots settled on the ground.

They were fortunate to find themselves in a secluded alley with no one in sight. He could only imagine what the authorities would make of the gaping hole in the street. The mysterious power of the Pizzazium diminished as it was exposed to the fresh air, and it gleamed softly and hovered within its leather confines like a balloon. Reluctantly letting go of his lovely companion, Rhode Island Fletcher reeled in the bag and examined the Skull. It was comfortably warm to his touch, and pulsed gently in his hand as its green aura sank back to its original, faint glow, and it's unusual weight returned. Vanessa reached out, and they held the remarkable object between them, as the kittens began to emerge and climb up their shoulders and over their backs.

"Well," said Rhode Island Fletcher, "at least now we know what it does."

_To be concluded_…

**A/N – Well, thanks to tonight's new episode, now we know how to spell Drusselstein! I'll probably swap out the earlier chapters this weekend to fix that. One last chapter to go!**

**Off topic, is anyone else having trouble getting email alerts from this site? I haven't had an email from or through them since Wednesday, and I've had several reviews since then. I don't think it's just me.**


	6. Chapter 6

Rhode Island Fletcher and the Pizzazium Skull – Chapter Six

As Rhode Island Fletcher and Agent V emerged from the alley, she untangled one kitten from her hair and detached the other from her collar. Handing them to him, she said, "Wait here," and vanished between a pair of buildings across the way. In a few minutes, she returned, the handles of a woven market basket looped over her arm. Covered as he was in mewing balls of fur, Fletcher thought it best not to question how she had come by the object, but simply offered her a grateful look as he began picking cats off himself and depositing them into the carrier. The last one had formed a particular attachment to his fedora, and stubbornly refused to let go of it. With a sigh, he surrendered his hat to the kitten, and into the basket it went, as the tiny claws happily dug into the brim. Well, reasoned Rhode Island Fletcher, what good was an adventure if it didn't leave behind a few battle scars?

They hailed a taxi, and Agent V directed the driver to the home of Monsieur Lieurance, the Curator of the Museum of Mystical Antiquities. M. Lieurance was a tall, gaunt-looking fellow in spectacles, and when Agent V informed him of their success in recovering the Pizzazium Skull, he enthused, "I say, jolly good show!" in what Fletcher noted was a not very French sounding accent. The man also eyed the mewing, rustling market basket with some curiosity and, when a small kitten face peeked over the top, he cooed, "Oh, dear, what's all this, then?"

"A little something we picked up on the way," said Agent V.

Looking into the carrier, he exclaimed, "Oh, my, you're all cute as the dickens! Linda, darling!" he called out. "You simply must come and see this!"

Rhode Island Fletcher's eyes widened in surprise as Madame Lieurance emerged from the kitchen and he recognized her as the red-headed woman from the Café Ferbouche. Agent V was clearly startled by this discovery, as well, and the two of them exchanged a look that communicated the same thought: _What were the odds?_

"Oh, aren't they adorable!" the woman exclaimed.

Agent V smiled sweetly as she said, in a suggestive tone, "They are in need of a good home."

"_We_ have a good home!" said M. Lieurance, as if staggered by this amazing coincidence.

The fate of the kittens thus decided, Mme. Lieurance fished out the one still attached to the brown fedora and deftly removed the hat from its clutches. "Monsieur Fletcher, I believe this is yours."

"_Merci, madame,_" he tipped the hat to her as he replaced it over his green hair.

Monsieur Lieurance then accompanied Rhode Island Fletcher and Agent V as they transported the Pizzazium Skull of Drusselstein back to the Museum of Mystical Antiquities, stopping once along the way so Agent V could send a telegram to her uncle the Chancellor notifying him of their success. At the museum, M. Lieurance accepted the Skull from them.

"It certainly is a magnificent artifact," he admired it. "It's a pity it doesn't do much."

Fletcher and Vanessa exchanged a look and kept their mouths shut.

The Curator went on, "I can't tell you how glad I am to have it back. We've been telling people it was removed from the display for cleaning."

"You might want to make good on that," Fletcher suggested.

"Well, yes, now that you mention it," M. Lieurance's nose wrinkled, "it does smell a bit – fishy."

lllllllllllllllllllllll

The following morning, two figures stood on the railway platform from which the train to Drusselstein was about to depart. The dashing, green-haired chap in the leather jacket and the beautiful, indigo-eyed girl in black lingered together, delaying as long as they could the need to say goodbye.

"In my telegram," said Agent V, "I informed my uncle of your crucial role in recovering the Skull. There may be a reward in it for you, Mr. Fletcher."

Rhode Island Fletcher smiled up at her. "I believe I've already had my reward… Vanessa." He reached for her hand and brought it lightly to his lips in a gentlemanly show of affection.

She returned the smile and said, "It has been a pleasure working with you, Rhode Island Fletcher. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday."

"Perhaps," he nodded, giving her soft hand a final squeeze before he released it. "_Au revoir."_

"_Au revoir,_" she replied. "And thank you." With these words, she bent down and pressed her velvet lips to his cheek. Their warm imprint radiated through him, and a little whirlwind of flower petals surrounded her as she walked away to board her train.

Rhode Island Fletcher and Agent V of the DSP would meet again, somehow, somewhere. He would make certain of it.

THE END

**A/N – Thanks to all for reading and reviewing! I never did do any more tinkering with this chapter; it's exactly what it was a few days ago. I have no immediate plans for a sequel, but this was fun to write, and the door is certainly open.**


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